


The Blood of the Coven

by yansurnummu



Series: The Blood of the Coven [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Canon Divergence, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Multi, Murder, Pre-Oblivion Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yansurnummu/pseuds/yansurnummu
Summary: Once again, Anthelion was well and truly alone.(Set before the Oblivion Crisis. Follows the Dark Brotherhood storyline)





	

I claimed no love for the Imperial City. To an outsider, it was magnificent, to be sure. Ancient Ayleid walls and towering citadels rose proudly from the Lake Rumare, the vast expanse of water reaching outwards for the foothills that surrounded it. Truly, it was the Heart of Cyrodiil, and it showed in the bustling markets and crowded docks, the roar of the Arena and the ever-present shadow of the White-Gold Tower.

The city streets were immaculately kept, pristine cobblestone paved and repaired countless times over millennia. And so the filth and rabble were swept downwards, into the unseen waterworks and canals of the city below the city, eventually spilling out into the docks of the Waterfront. This was the lowest point in the City, and the place I had called home all my life.

Leaving the brothel behind me, I pulled my cloak tighter around me, shakily sucking in bitter tobacco smoke. Spring brought warmth to the City, though it mattered little this late into the night. Starting down the narrow alley home, I barely had time to react before the man cornered me, shoving me against jagged bricks.

He was older, Imperial, and smelled strongly of liquor. I recognized him, of course - it was rare that I forgot a face - I’d shared his bed in the past, and he always argued the fees. His hands were on me. He told me how pretty I was, with my straight black hair and my elven face.

I wasn't afraid. I was angry. I suppose that was where most of my problems in life came from; inside, I was just angry. I didn't scream this time. I knew no one would help me. Instead, my body acted on its own, my mind blinded by anger.

It was a sort of calm rage that made my blood boil and my fingers twitch. I was outraged that men like him existed; disgusted by the way they treated mer like me. I was barely aware of my dagger in my hand as it plunged into his gut. He fell back and all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart in my ears as I stabbed him again. Then again. And again. I didn’t stop until my arms shook and I felt sick to my stomach.

 

“You sleep rather soundly for a murderer,”

 

I nearly stabbed him too. I don't know why I didn't. Perhaps it was how calmly he looked at me, pushing back on my wrists as I tried to cut his throat, as if this were an ordinary morning for him.

“Relax,” he spoke slowly, his voice a low drawl with a subtle Colovian accent. “I’m not here to harm you,” I loosened my grip on the blade, allowing it to clatter to the floor between us. He released my wrists and took a step back, giving a small smile.

“Explain yourself,” was all I could manage to say. He seemed somehow taken aback.

Now that I wasn’t trying to drive a blade through him, I was able to get a good look at the strange man before me. As good a look as I could get with his face shrouded in his black hood, anyway. He was taller than I, though that wasn't saying much considering my Bosmeri stature. His face was pale, his features sharp and squared, his narrow eyes a deep chestnut hue.

“Forgive me,” he began pacing about my room, suddenly interested in the mundane paintings on the wall. “I am Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood,”

 _The Dark Brotherhood_. The name rang through my mind, echoing like an avalanche through the mountains. Lucien smiled darkly, evidently seeing the fear and intrigue in my face.

“Worry not. Were I here to kill you, we’d not be having this conversation,” he stepped towards me once more. “No, dear killer, I come with a proposal,”

 _The Blade of Woe_ , he had called it. I turned it in my hands, admiring the finely-carved details of the solid ebony dagger. I did not overlook how unbelievably light it felt in my grasp.

The man had asked me to kill, and the question in my mind wasn't whether or not I'd do it.

I lived better than most in the Imperial City, of course; I had a rented bed and I ate most days. In truth, I had never been offered the chance at anything more. Lucien spoke of a family - a _home_ I could be part of - and all I needed to do was travel not far south and kill some old fool while he slept.

Could I leave the sorry life I'd made behind? Could I be worth more than a lustful gaze and a few septims? The more I thought on it, the more appealing it sounded. Oh, how nice it would be to remain unseen for once.

 

No, the only question I asked myself was _how soon shall I leave on the morrow?_

 

There were very few who would notice my absence. Everything I owned, I could fit into a rucksack and carry with me. I did not plan to return, and I told the innkeeper so in passing as I left in the morning. He did not seem to care.

My hands shook when I left the walls of the city, though not out of fear. I was nervous, of course; I was an entertainer, and here I was setting out to join a guild of assassins. But I was also undeniably _giddy_.

 

The journey took the better part of the day, for I was unaccustomed to travelling and had to stop to rest more than a few times. Of course it was mostly uphill once I passed Weye, which helped me very little. The day was waning once I arrived at the small settlement on the road - the Inn of Ill Omen, as Lucien had described. A fitting name, I mused.

 

I had no plan, I realized as I pushed open the rickety wooden door.

 

As expected, the inn was very dull. There were a few patrons, all quietly keeping to themselves save for a couple who chatted with the innkeeper. The man scrambled to straighten himself when he saw me, greeting me warmly, while the other two looked at me curiously. I supposed it wasn’t often they saw new faces here.

The food too was dull, and the ale mimicked stale water, but it was cheap so I couldn’t complain. I batted my eyelashes and the innkeeper enthusiastically told me everything about Rufio.

“How very interesting,” I smiled. He flirted with me until I decided to turn in for the night. Part of me was disappointed when he didn’t offer his own bed.

 

I was careful not to sleep too long. I awoke sometime in the middle of the night when I was sure everyone had gone to sleep. Clutching the sheath of the dagger on my belt, I carefully pushed open the door to my room and crept downstairs.

I stopped at the last door at the end of the hall, as the innkeeper had described. The lock was easy enough to pick, and I found the man - my target - asleep in his bed. I watched over him for a moment, suddenly a bit hesitant. But a passing thought of the family I had been promised was all the incentive I needed to draw my blade and slit his throat.

 

I breathed in the cool night air as the door fell shut behind me. Just as I was contemplating where to go next, I felt a presence beside me. Turning my head, I saw Lucien leaning against the wall of the inn.

“So, the deed is done,” he gazed at me with those dark eyes and that wolfish grin. “Good work, killer,” I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here, after the promptness of our last meeting.

“What now?” I asked, feeling far less threatened by his presence than I did before.

He explained that I would go to Cheydinhal, and in the basement of an abandoned house, I would find a black door. I was to speak a passphrase and then I would be granted access to the Sanctuary.

“Now, I must take my leave. Welcome to the family, brother,” he turned to go, but I stopped him.

“Will I see you again?” I asked, for some reason feeling an odd sort of bond with this man. He looked at me through the shadow of his black hood with a smile.

“Perhaps,” he stepped closer, now barely a foot away. “ _If you impress me_ ,” I shivered at the dark tone of his voice. And with that, he vanished once more into the night.

 

* * *

 

Rotting wood steps creaked under my feet as I carefully descended into the cellar. I cast a weak Light spell once I reached the bottom, taking in my surroundings. The building had clearly been abandoned for many years, as was evident in the dense cobwebs and weathered, upturned furniture. Further exploration revealed a partially caved-in passageway. A soft red light became visible as I approached.

The light became brighter as I continued down the passage until its source came into view. Before me stood a tall, black door. It whispered as I stepped closer, a hundred voices brushing past me like the gentle water of a brook. They were everywhere and nowhere at once, their volume increasing as I reached out a hand, until finally my fingers touched the cold, black stone.

 

_“What is the colour of night?”_

 

This time they spoke as one. I paused at the familiarity of the words. I had heard them once before; a week ago, outside the Inn of Ill Omen. Lucien had told me to answer thusly:

“Sanguine, my brother,” they had all but stopped their incoherent whispering, as if considering my reply.

 

_“Welcome home,”_

 

Ancient locks clicked out of place before the door cracked open. I paid it little mind as it closed behind me, in awe of the grand hall it had revealed.

At one point, it may have been a lavish crypt. Now, however, it was well-lit, old stone walls lined with tapestries and shelves stocked with books. There was a pair of Argonians chatting and laughing at a table across the hall. They appeared at home.

“Greetings, brother!” one of them noticed me, waving me over. She introduced herself as Ocheeva, mistress of the Sanctuary, and her brother called himself Teinaava.

Ocheeva led me through winding corridors, showing me through all the rooms of the private quarters. She led me through a study, carved stone niches repurposed as bookshelves catching my eye, and I cracked a smile. I had to appreciate their opportunistic nature, if nothing else.

She led me through a kitchen before showing me to a vacant room, which she said I was welcome to.

“All the way from the Imperial City, you must be exhausted! Please, take your time to get settled before dinner!” she insisted. I couldn't comprehend her generosity. I thanked her profusely before she turned to leave, and she flashed me what I assumed should have been a smile. It was hard to tell with Argonians sometimes.

 

“Please, do not let my appearance… _unnerve_ you,”

In truth, I was the opposite of unnerved. His words fell from his lips like a fine velvet, and his gaze was calm, yet watchful. He was tall with sharp features, and of course I couldn't overlook those _fangs_ that showed when he smiled _._ No, if nothing else, I was undeniably intrigued.

He introduced himself as Vicente, but I found myself unable to focus on what he was saying, too fixed on those piercing red eyes. He oversaw new recruits, and perhaps he was a swordsman? I would ask Ocheeva later on. For now, I was enthralled by this man’s strange and dangerous beauty.

He laughed, and I realized I had been staring.

“Forgive me, I, ah…” I stuttered ineloquently, searching for a way out of the hole I’d dug myself into. “It’s not often I meet a man so handsome,”

He grinned, and I paled when I realized what I had just said. _Divines, help me._

“My, you are a flatterer!” he took a step towards me, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat. I stumbled over my words, inwardly cursing myself. “ _Relax,_ brother, I don’t bite unless you want me to,” he chuckled suggestively, and I looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I jest, of course. I would never harm a fellow assassin; _Wrath of Sithis_ and all that,”

I couldn’t help laughing at this predicament I’d found myself in. Truly, I was caught off guard by Vicente.

 

“I believe we will get along just fine, dear brother,”

 

A gentle knock on my door revealed a young human woman. She was thin, her stature slight, with short blonde hair and kind grey eyes.

“Oh, hello, brother! It’s so good to finally meet you!” The woman greeted me warmly, and I was captivated by her smile. She introduced herself as Antoinetta, the last recruit before myself. I invited her in, and she sat on the edge of my bed with me for the remainder of the evening.

Her accent gave her away, and I learned that Lucien had also picked her off the streets of the City a few years back, and I realized my kinship with her. We had both seen the worst this province had to offer.

“Do you ever miss living the City?” I asked softly. She let out a sigh.

“It’s odd, but there are times. However unkind it was, it's certainly left a mark on me - like a habit I just can't kick,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes distant.

 

The Imperial City always left an impression. Of this, I was certain.

 

Antoinetta jumped up, commenting on the time, insisting I meet Telaendril, who just returned home.

“She’s a Wood Elf too!” she chirped, leading me towards a room that served as an archery range.

But Telaendril spoke of a homeland of dense jungle, trees as tall as the White-Gold Tower, and I shuffled uncomfortably where I stood. Her Bosmeri accent was strange to me, and once I spoke, her pointed ears perked up as if she understood. All eighteen years of my life I had spent fending for myself in the Imperial City. I had seen glimpses of the culture of Valenwood only in passing Bosmeri travellers, though I always felt sort of disconnected from it. I was curious, of course; but it wasn't _mine_.

“If there’s anything you wish to learn, brother, you need only ask,” Telaendril nodded respectfully, a warm smile on her face. I paused for a moment, thoughtful. I looked to the quiver on her hip and the bow in her hand and I was overcome with a childish excitement that I did my best to contain.

“Would you teach me to shoot?” I asked shyly.

 

* * *

 

It was strange being back in the City after so long. I walked through the narrow, crowded corridors of the Undercity towards the waterfront, weaving my way past merchants and thieves alike. The people there never gave me a second glance. Perhaps they were smart enough to recognize the black armour I wore. I cracked a smirk at the thought, pushing past a barely-present guard with a new sort of confidence. I scanned the ships at the docks until I found one with scratched painted letters that read _Marie Elena_.

 

The captain was slouched over a table, his back to me, and didn't notice me as I slipped through the door from the balcony. I drew my blade as I approached him, moving silently over the old wood. He choked on whatever reaction he may have had as I reached around and slit his throat. He fell forward against the table with a _thud_ , and I jumped at the sound. _Somebody definitely heard that_ , I thought, swiftly making for the balcony of Tussaud’s cabin.

Behind me, I heard the cracking of wood, and then two voices shouting. I considered my options. I wasn't confident I could make the jump back onto the docks, and if I did, I would surely be caught immediately. Turning back and fighting the pirates wouldn't go well; I was a poor skirmisher at best.

I looked down at the dark, murky water below me. Hurried footsteps sounded behind me, and I sucked in a breath before diving in.

“There! He's gone for the water!”

Divines, how _frigid_ it was. I cried out when I resurfaced some meters away.

“Fuck it, the slaughterfish can have ‘im,”

 

I cast the Night Eye spell like M’raaj-dar had taught me, swimming for the shore when it looked like they had given up. I shivered in the night air, wondering if that had really been my _best_ option. I walked through the slums towards the Black Rook Tavern, wanting nothing more than dry clothes and a warm bed.

 

The innkeeper was kind enough to lend me some clothes while I let my armour dry by the fire, though he wasn't above making a joke or two at my expense. _Nimble forest folk fell in the lake, huh?_

The tavern was quiet as I sat by the hearth with a mug of warm tea, and a shadow-clad figure settled next to me.

“That really was _quite_ the escape,” the man said with a chuckle. I turned to him in surprise, but relaxed at the familiarity of that black hood and those dark eyes.

“Impressed, were you?” I smiled mischievously, recalling our last meeting. Lucien gave me an amused look.

“Intrigued, certainly. I can appreciate your ability to… improvise, however novice your tactics,”

“You flatter me, Speaker,” I grinned, taking a sip of my tea. He hummed in reply, returning his gaze to the fire.

“I've come to realize that I never learned your name, assassin,” I laughed against the rim of my mug.

“Is that why you followed me here?” I looked at him and he rolled his eyes.

“If you don't wish to tell me, fine -”

“Anthelion,” I cut him off. He stared at me for a moment.

“Anthelion,” he mimicked, the word falling smoothly from his tongue, and I nodded approvingly.

The two of us sat in silence for a time, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. No, I found something about this man’s presence to be nearly soothing. It was an odd thought; I’d not felt that way for quite some time.

“I believe I should take my leave,” I glanced at him as he stood. “Good night, and safe travels, brother,” he bowed his head with a devilish smile before turning to go.

“And you, Speaker,” I mumbled, though the dark aura that was his presence had already dissipated.

 

He was a curious man, this Lucien Lachance.

 

* * *

 

“If you don’t mind my asking, what did you do before the Brotherhood?” Antoinetta skipped over a boulder as we continued following the river to our usual spot outside the city walls. It wasn’t that we didn’t like the Sanctuary - but sometimes, it was nice to get some fresh air, we both agreed.

“I was a… an entertainer,” I said, doing my best to keep pace with her, though she was always just one step ahead of me.

“An entertainer!” she gasped, “I had always assumed you were an estranged noble, honestly. Though, _entertainer_ , that also explains your good looks,”

“A noble!” I choked out, laughing at the absurdity of the statement. “Sister, you flatter me,” The two of us giggled, settling on a rock near a calmer part of the river.

“So, what sort of entertainer were you?” she asked, fishing a flask out of the satchel she carried. She uncorked it, easily taking a swig before passing it to me.

“I worked at a brothel,” I explained, taking the flask from her. The whiskey burned my throat, though, like her, I didn’t wince. She nodded.

“I tried that, once. It wasn’t pleasant work,” she frowned, though not out of pity. I knew she and I had come from very similar places.

“I was content with it,” I sighed, relaxing at the warmth of the alcohol. “Though, truthfully, I’m glad to be free of it,”

“Fair enough,” she said wistfully before laying back on the rock. I smiled back at her briefly before turning my attention to the rushing water of the river. I was glad to have found a friend in Antoinetta.

 

* * *

 

I watched from a distance as the guards left Motierre’s house, body in tow. There would be no investigation; it was common knowledge that Motierre was a marked man, and he wasn’t as well-loved as some. When the commotion died down, I slipped back inside the house.

“You are quite the actor, hm?” I spun around, hand hovering over my blade on my belt, but relaxed when I saw the man before me.

“You, of all people, should know not to startle me,” I said before taking several deep breaths. Lucien grinned.

“Was that a threat?” he took a step towards me, and I snorted.

“You might recall our first meeting, is all,” I looked at him with a shrug. In truth, I didn’t fully expect him to remember; it had been nearly three years, after all.

“Of course. I couldn’t possibly forget the kind greeting you gave me,” he laughed, starting further into the house. “Pleasantries aside, I was curious as to why you came back here,” he took a seat at the dinner table, lighting the candles in front of him with a flick of his fingers.

“I could ask the same of you,” I said, beginning to rummage through the kitchen. I heard him laugh from somewhere beyond the pantry.

“Curiosity. I took care of the first half of the job, and I was curious to see how you handled your part,” satisfied with his answer, I nodded, though my back was to him.

“Fair. _I_ intend to take advantage of our host’s wine cellar, of course. And have you seen the bedroom?” I picked an apple out of the cupboard before joining him at the table. “I think I deserve a decent night’s sleep, for once,” he chuckled.

“In that case, I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I joined you?” I looked at him for a moment, a little taken aback, before a smile crept across my face.

 

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t,”

 

I laughed as Lucien uncorked the second bottle of Surilie vintage. He clumsily refilled our mugs as he finished his story about his recent trip to Skyrim, where he cut out the eyes of a Riften thief. I shuddered theatrically, though I couldn’t suppress the grin on my face. Drunk as we already were, he was charming as ever. At some point, he had discarded his black coat and untied his hair, I noticed as I gazed at him intently. He raised an eyebrow, looking at me questioningly, and I realized I had been staring.

“Sorry,” I stuttered, “You look quite different in this light - not nearly as threatening,”

“That so?” he chuckled, dark eyes glinting in the candlelight. I waved a hand at him, finishing off my mug.

“It’s probably the wine,” laughing, I nearly choked. “When we first met, I thought you resembled a wolf,”

“A wolf?” he leaned forward, giving me an amused look. “Well, when I first saw you, I mistook you for a woman, if we’re being honest,”

“Ha!” I let out a childish giggle. “You wouldn’t be the first. Make no mistake, though, I look _lovely_ in a dress,”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said lowly, grinning as he refilled both our drinks.

The rest of the night was clouded in a wine-induced fog. The two of us moved upstairs at some point, and I remember struggling helplessly with the many buckles and laces of my armour as I sat on the edge of Motierre’s bed. Lucien batted my hands away, a lifetime of experience with the Brotherhood’s leather armour revealed in how easily the clasps came undone in his hands. I remember falling back on the bed, giggling madly at the thought of _Lucien undressing me_ , mumbling something about how _if this is how he wanted me, he only had to ask_.

He laughed out loud, forehead falling against my chest, tendrils of dark hair spilling over his shoulders, and I couldn’t help reaching out and combing my fingers through it. Grinning, his dark eyes met mine and he climbed onto the bed with me, doing away with my leather jerkin before pressing his lips to mine. Oh, Sithis, he was _kissing me_ , and I kissed him back hungrily, savouring the taste of wine on his tongue and how _soft_ his hair was between my fingers and the electrifying feeling of his hands roaming my body.

 

“ _Anthelion,_ ”

 

I awoke to the sound of my name muttered against my forehead. I opened my eyes groggily, then snapped to attention at the sight of the pale, muscled torso I was draped over. Pulling away, I sat up, immediately regretting the sudden movement as my head throbbed and I was overcome with a wave of nausea.

“Good morning, Speaker,” I chewed my bottom lip as I looked at him, though I couldn’t help cracking a small smile at the ridiculousness of my predicament. Lucien’s was certainly not the worst face to wake up to, after all. The man smiled before he got up and stretched.

“It’s getting late; you may want to head to the undercroft soon,” he sighed, looking towards the window.

“We’re… not going to talk about this?” I gestured aimlessly at the space between us, not entirely sure what _this_ even was. “I mean, you’re nice enough, but,” I trailed off when he turned to me.

“That’s that, then,” he smiled, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. “I find you delightful, to be sure, but I have no desire for anything… emotional,”

“Oh, good,” I sighed in relief, giving him a shy smile. He grinned back, and I couldn’t help noticing how perfect he looked with the morning sun peeking through the windows, highlighting the deep reds and browns of his dark hair. It was disheveled now, of course, though it didn’t appear out of place with the small red marks along his neck and the disarray in which we’d left the room.

“Now, go,” he stood once more and tossed me pieces of my armour as he dressed. “Best not leave Motierre in suspense.”

 

* * *

 

Phillida was dead, and the Sanctuary was very much alive.

After I had returned home, Ocheeva greeted me giddily. Apparently she had already received word of the former captain’s death ahead of my arrival, and she and Teinaava were arranging a celebration.

Gogron and Telaendril greeted me cheerily when I entered the dining hall. Judging by the half-empty bottle of wine, it appeared they had already begun their own little celebration.

Soon, all the Sanctuary was present, and a grand feast was had. Antoinetta sat beside me, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pressing a kiss to my temple. I laughed as she exclaimed her pride in me. Even M’raaj-dar shot me a small smile and a muttered _congratulations._

I gazed around at the faces surrounding me, and for a moment I felt like I was dreaming. Like I was still back in my tiny tavern room in the City and this was all an elaborate fantasy. But I quickly shook the thought from my mind. This was _my family_ , and I _belonged_ here. My heart ached, and there was no doubt that I was truly, genuinely _happy_ here.

The night went on and drinks were had, and somehow I found myself on the opposite end of the hall with Vicente.

“Brother, would you join me in my quarters this evening?” I looked at him for a long moment, taken aback by the request. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed him, paying no mind to Telaendril’s drunken cheering and Antoinetta’s scandalized gasp from across the table. I couldn’t help but laugh as I pulled away, looking up at him with a sheepish grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” I nodded enthusiastically and he pulled me to my feet.

 

“Are you sure about this? I thought you said…”

“My body is dead, yes,” he cut me off. “Though, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy your company,” sharp white fangs showed as he grinned. “No, tonight will be all about _you_ ,” he reached for me, and my breath hitched at the husky tone of his voice.

I thought on his words as he kissed me, gentle and chaste. He bent over as he did, I realized, appreciating the feeling of not being towered over. What he was implying was abstract to me; never had I been in the position of being _cared for_ in such a manner. The idea thrilled me.

“Do you trust me, brother?” He murmured, and I gazed up into those bright red eyes.

“Completely,” I breathed. And I did.

He wore a smirk as he led me back towards his bed, and the kiss that followed was deeper than the last.

I shuddered as his cold lips trailed down my throat. It was exciting, having him so close, trusting him not to hurt me. He sucked at the skin between my neck and shoulder and chuckled when I gasped. I was only partially aware of the things he whispered to me as he undressed me and I couldn’t help the low whine that escaped my throat when he pushed me onto my back.

 

_“You are like a dark gift from the Night Mother herself,”_

 

* * *

 

A letter arrived a week later, addressed to me. It was from Lucien. The Black Hand had a task for me, and I was to meet him at an old fort north of town.

 

“You've maneuvered my traps and left my Guardians undisturbed. Well done, brother,” Lucien glanced up from his book only briefly to acknowledge my presence.

“This was a test, then,” I stated rather than asked, because _of_ _course_ it was.

“Naturally,” the man let out an amused huff, setting down his book and gesturing for me to sit with him. “No room for failure in what I'm about to propose, after all,”

“I'm yours to command, Speaker,” I bowed my head in mock diplomacy before pulling up the chair across from him. A smirk played at his lips, but I saw no joy in his eyes.

“Eager. I like that,” he drawled. “From this point onwards, you are no longer bound by the five tenets. I am naming you my Silencer,” I stared at him in shock, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“I’m honoured, of course, but… why?”

“The Cheydinhal Sanctuary has been… compromised, and you have proven to be the least likely suspect,”

“What?” my stomach dropped. I didn’t like the sound of this at all.

“The Black Hand has ordered a purification. You will carry it out,” my gaze fell to my gloved hands on the table in front of me.

“I… what must I do?” I did my best to keep my voice steady. I knew what it was he would say, but I needed to hear him say it.

“I know this is an unexpected turn of events, but drastic measures must be taken. Everyone in the Sanctuary must die,”

 

I felt numb. He continued speaking, but I heard none of it. I’d heard all I needed to.

 

I saw Telaendril on the walk back to the city. She greeted me cheerfully. It was dark out now. Her eyes were wide with shock as I drove my dagger through her throat.

Antoinetta was perched on the edge of the well. Of course she waited for me to return; she had been my dearest friend. I slit her throat quickly. She didn’t have time to react before the life drained from her.

Teinaava greeted me curtly in the main hall, where he sat in his usual spot idly sharpening his blade. I let loose a throwing knife, not bothering to retrieve it from his skull before heading to the training room.

Gogron didn’t hear me coming, too focused on the straw and burlap dummy he was sparring with. Still, it took no small effort to reach his height and cut his throat.

I crossed the hall once more to the study M’raaj-dar frequented. I found him asleep in his chair, a book draped over his lap. Part of me was glad that I wouldn’t have to face him. It took him years to finally warm up to me, after all.

Ocheeva, too, was asleep in her room. She had been like a mother to me. I was grateful that she would die peacefully.

I could barely stand when I reached Vicente’s room. Tears clouded my vision and I felt sick to my stomach. I pushed open the heavy oak door to find him seated at his table with his hands folded in front of a silver dagger. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read. He motioned for me to take the chair across from him, so I did. He slid the dagger towards me. Of course he knew what was happening. Of course he expected me to fulfil my duty, whatever it may be.

It felt like hours before I was able to pry myself away from Vicente’s room. I felt heavy as I pulled myself up the stairs to the main hall. The whole place reeked of death more than it ever had. I felt faint, leaning against the wall to keep myself upright.

 

_Sithis, what had I done?_

 

“There you are!” Lucien startled me out of my murky thoughts. I eyed him through my drunken haze, and then I remembered that I was supposed to return to him once the job was done. I let out an exasperated sigh, theatrically throwing my head back and trying my best not to fall off the barstool.

“Oh, shit. Evening, Speaker, shall I buy you a drink?” I grinned. He rolled his eyes as he pulled up the stool next to me.

“I was beginning to worry, you know,” he spoke lowly, cautious of the crowded tavern.

“Ha!” I nearly choked on my wine. “Don't tell me I've managed to warm my way into that cold, black heart of yours!” I teased gleefully.

“Worried you fucked up the job, Anthelion,” he spat, waving away Dervera when she offered him a drink. “However, I found the Sanctuary… _vacant_ , upon investigation, so good work,”

“Vacant! Fucking _vacant!_ They’re -” he stopped me, gripping my arm and pulling me away from the bar.

“Upstairs. _Now_.” he growled, tossing a few coins on the counter before shoving me towards the stairs. He must have noticed me stumbling, because it wasn't long before his hand returned, keeping me upright. He pushed me into my room, because _of course_ he knew which was mine, before locking the door and eyeing me sternly. Slumping down on my bed, I snickered.

“If y’ wanted to get me alone, y’ only had to ask,”

“What are you doing, Anthelion?” he looked tired, his arms crossed over his chest. I laughed, though I was far from amused.

“What? I’m not allowed to drink myself into a stupor after I murder my entire family?” I scoffed, falling back against the stiff mattress. Lucien was quiet for a moment, then I heard him sigh and felt the mattress sink near my feet. I turned to him to see him pick one of my own bottles of brandy off the shelf next to him and uncork it.

“You know, when you didn't return, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps you were the traitor, after all,” he took several gulps and then passed the bottle to me.

“I'm sorry,” I muttered.

“No, I should apologize. I know it wasn't easy,”

The two of us sat quietly for a time. But in my drunken state, of course I wasn't quite content to just lay there. He stared at me as I jumped up suddenly, smiling.

“Can I hug you?” I asked, and he gave me a dumbfounded look.

“Just how much have you had?” he eyed me cautiously.

“Oh, not nearly enough, trust me!” I beamed.

“Well… I suppose so,” I wasted no time, throwing my arms around his neck, grinning wildly into his shoulder when I felt his arms around my waist. I couldn't help breathing in deeply, savouring the closeness.

“I missed you,” I heard him sigh and I pulled back in alarm, my head spinning from the sharp movement. “Shit! I said that aloud!” I reached for the brandy.

“Maybe you should stop,”

“Sithis, no!” I said as I drank. “I'm not stopping until I knock myself out - how else am I ever going to sleep?” I heard him scoff, and somehow he wrestled the bottle away from me. I looked into his eyes, amazed at how gently he was looking at me. I mean, he was irritated, obviously, but for a split second I thought he might actually have cared about me.

He was saying something, but I was too hypnotised by those deep brown eyes.

I vaguely remember telling him he was pretty. Which, normally wouldn't be the first word I'd use to describe him, although he was no doubt attractive. He was strong, handsome, dangerous, and just a little bit twisted, and everything about him intrigued me.

 

At some point, I fell asleep. I dreamt of Antoinetta. I followed her along the river’s edge, always just a few steps behind. Frantic, I called out to her, but her pace never faltered. I tried to run faster, but she was always just out of reach. Finally, she stopped, beckoning for me with a smile. I threw my arms around her and she kissed me, her lips sickly sweet, nimble fingers running through my hair. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with an unmistakable metallic taste. I pulled back, horrified as blood poured from her mouth.

“Why?” she choked, blood seeping out of the wound on her throat as well. “I loved you,” she cried. “I loved you!” I felt hands on my shoulders and lips on my neck, but I found myself unable to turn around.

“You betrayed us,” the voice, I recognized as Vicente, whispered against my ear. He spun me around to face him, and I reached out for him.

“I'm sorry,” I managed, and he only smiled. I felt Antoinetta’s smaller hands against my back as she kissed my shoulder.

“We loved you, and what did you do to us?” he stroked my jaw with his thumb, and I saw the silver dagger lodged in his chest. I was pulled down by hands unseen, and my mouth filled with water as I tried to scream. I was overwhelmed by the voices of my former brothers and sisters, pulling me ever deeper into the rushing river.

“We gave you everything,”

“We trusted you,”

“We taught you to survive,”

“We were your family,”

“ _You betrayed us, murderer_ ,”

I awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and struggling to breath as tears streamed down my face.

 

* * *

 

Two months had passed since the purification of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Two months since I had lost - _killed with my own hands_ \- the first family I’d ever truly known. Two long, _gruelling_ months of waking from nightmares, wondering if I'd done the right thing, and then cursing myself because _it was the will of Sithis and how could I dare question the will of our Dread Father?_

I lowered the iron trapdoor above me before descending the ladder into the ruins of Fort Farragut. I'd made a habit of returning here instead of the now vacant Sanctuary, and Lucien didn't seem to mind on the rare occasions he too was in town. I shed my rain-soaked cloak the first chance I got. A small smile crept across my face when I moved to hang it up to dry and noticed a similar black overcoat already hung in its place.

“It's refreshing to see you smile,” Lucien commented, and I turned to him, realizing, suddenly shy, that he had been watching me. “Far too little of that these days,” Inwardly, I cursed the childish giggle that escaped my throat as I set down my bow and unbuckled my quiver, crossing the room to join him by the fireplace. I kicked off my muddy boots and greaves before settling on a cushion next to him, and he flashed me a sly grin.

“How went your trip to Kvatch?” He inquired, averting his eyes from me to shuffle through some papers on the rug in front of him.

“Rather dull,” I replied, beginning to unpack my satchel and remove pieces of soggy leather armour. “The job was quick and the guards are lazy as ever - you know how it is,” Lucien responded with a low chuckle. Finally free of my waterlogged armour, I sighed deeply, welcoming the warmth of the fire. My eyes flicked away from the dancing flames when Lucien raised a hand to tuck a stray lock of his long dark hair behind his ear. He appeared smaller, less imposing like this, hunched over his maps and correspondences, with the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to his elbows. Straightening himself with a sigh, he combed a hand through his hair, and I noticed the dark circles under his honey-brown eyes.

“Something troubles you,” I stated more than asked, not entirely expecting him to share his worries. He cast me a tired smile.

“Yes, though the solution still eludes me,” he replied more softly than I was used to hearing from him.

“How shall I help?” I asked without hesitation, and the sheer loyalty in my voice nearly surprised me. My loyalty for my Speaker was unwavering, yes; but I knew there was more to our relationship than just that. He fell quiet for a time, his eyes shifting back to the mess of parchment before him. Lucien was always quick-witted; the silence that loomed between us now spoke volumes.

“Anthelion,” he said at last, my name startling me out of my own thoughts, “Your presence alone puts my mind at ease,” I couldn't discern the cause of my fluttering heartbeat until I caught his underlying meaning. His eyes said what his lips did not; out of fear of rejection, or simply not having the words, I couldn't say.

“In that case, I would be happy to stay with you tonight,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

It was but another skirmish, though I dare not make the first move. Trained predator though I was, the love and fear I felt for this man ran too deep. Our bond was forged in the blood I'd spilled for him and the safety he'd in turn given me. And so, I surrendered myself to him completely, sighing in relief when the suspense was broken by his fingers along my jaw, so uncharacteristically gentle. Then his lips were on mine and I inhaled sharply at the bruising intensity of it. The kiss was tongue and teeth and his hand was on my throat and I had this dizzying sense of _relief_ , as if all my troubles had now melted away and all I could taste was _Lucien._

 

* * *

 

There was always something that drew me to the Waterfront. The morning air had a bite to it that sent a chill through me. I settled on the edge of the pier, my feet just inches above the surface of the water. It was still. The night had only begun to wane, the city’s dock workers still sleeping off their drinks. Not even the seagulls had risen yet. I hadn't slept; I rarely did when I travelled. I looked out into the fog. The scenery was familiar, though so much else had changed over the years. It was grounding.

For a moment, I thought of who I used to be, when I called the City home. I supposed it wasn't all too different from who I was now. A tad bit more blood on my hands, maybe. I never knew love then. Even now, I still wasn't sure I did, but I felt closer to it. It had a sort of sad irony about it.

I thought of Lucien and my heart skipped. It had been a week since I had shared his bed. Was that what love was? Looking back fondly on our time together even though I'd done it a hundred times before with others?

My mind drifted through uncharted waters. People in love marry, don't they? What did Mara think of Sithis’ children? Would the goddess reject us? Would Lucien marry me? Where would we settle down? Would we still serve Sithis?

The longer I thought about it, the more unappealing the idea sounded. I grinned at the _absurdity_ of the image. Imagine: two successful assassins setting their bloodlust aside and starting a home somewhere in the Nibenay Valley. I stifled a giggle - no, the two of us enjoyed the hunt far too much for _that_ to ever work.

It was the shuffling of armoured boots changing shifts and the first cry of a gull that signalled the City would soon awaken. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and cast one last look over the Rumare before setting out once more towards Cheydinhal.

A smile cracked across my face as a dark figure slid onto the barstool next to me. Dervera refilled my drink before moving away, casting a sidelong glance in the figure’s direction. She never said anything, but it was apparent she knew. Nothing got past her in her tavern, after all.

“I suggest you leave Cheydinhal,” Lucien spoke at last. I shot him a concerned look. “Something is amiss. The fort is no longer secure,”

“What’s happening?” I said, my voice hushed, wary of the crowded tavern. Lucien shook his head.

“I can’t say yet, though I have my suspicions. I’m leaving Cyrodiil for a time,”

“I’ll go with you,” I offered, a feeling of dread beginning to build.

“No,” he said sternly, “I need you here,” he unfolded a map of the province, littered with small red ink spots. “A courier will leave orders at these dead drops on these dates. Listen, I need you to continue acting as my Silencer while I uncover what’s going on,” I stared down at the map he had given me, a hundred questions racing through my mind.

“Will I see you again?” I asked softly. He was silent for a moment, then I heard him laugh. I cast him a questioning look.

“You have left quite the impression on me, you know,” he said with a grin. “I doubt I’d be able to stay away if I tried,”

 

I smiled, though it was a sorrowful thing.

 

“I need you to trust me, Anthelion,”

 

Was this what love was?

 

* * *

 

Twin moons bathed the waters of the Niben in a silver glow. It had been nearly two years since I had last visited Bravil, I mused as I gazed over the river at the old stone walls of the city. I had rested there only briefly to resupply before continuing on my way to Leyawiin. I felt a pang of longing as I recalled the welcoming I received back at the Sanctuary after Phillida’s death. How I missed that feeling of _belonging._

Absent though he was, Lucien had kept me busy as ever the last six months. I was thankful for that; it gave me little time to worry myself over the circumstances of our last parting. Shadowmere huffed as I gestured for her to stay put outside the city. She did love to argue, though she had truly been a loyal creature.

 

In the slums of Bravil, under the cover of night, I was once again in my element. I found a dark corner among the rooftops, and settled down to wait for my target. At times I was grateful for the haphazard architecture of Bravil; it certainly made it easier to stay hidden in the shadows.

 

I loosed an arrow when my target finally appeared, and the mer fell over before the lucky old lady’s statue. Something about this didn’t feel right. Not that I was concerned with what was _right_ in this line of work, but I had an uneasy feeling nonetheless.

Suddenly, I found myself on my back, winded. A dark figure kneeled over me, yanking at the collar of cloak, and I froze.

“What in Oblivion are you doing, Anthelion?! To think, I trusted you!” Lucien spat, and I stared at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve come to deal with you myself, traitor!”

I was horrified. I had so many questions, but all I could choke out was a stuttered, “What?” His grasp on me loosened, seemingly taken aback. His eyes held mine, and I couldn’t help but crack under his scrutiny.

“The dead drops,” he said at last, his tone calmer now, “Do you still have the letters?” I nodded cautiously. I knew I should have destroyed them, but I found comfort in Lucien’s handwriting. He shuffled off of me and I reached for my pack, withdrawing the carefully folded parchment.

He let out an exasperated sigh once he had read over them, setting them on the floor of the balcony beside him. “It would seem we’ve both been played,”

I listened in horror as he explained to me that someone had intercepted the dead drops and I had been killing off members of the Black Hand. The mer that lay dead just below us was our Listener.

“What must I do?” I asked softly.

“For now? Get some rest. It wouldn't do us any good to be caught unawares on the road,”

 

 _Us._ The word was simple, but it echoed through my head. We were in this together, now.

 

Lucien pushed me against the door of our rented room once I had shut it. He whispered a string of apologies in between kisses, _I'm so sorry I doubted you, I should have realized sooner._

 _I know, of course I forgive you,_ I pushed him towards the bed until his calves hit the edge of the ratty old mattress, and climbed over him when he fell onto his back. _So deadly, so perfect,_ my hands smoothed over his chest, admiring the lean, pale body beneath me.

I wanted to tell him I loved him. That everything would be alright. That we would make it through this.

 

 _We would make it through this_.

 

* * *

 

 

Even as I approached the cellar door, the stench of death was unmistakable. I pried the door open cautiously, choking on the foul air that wafted up the stairs. I pulled my mask up over my nose before descending the crumbling stone steps. The stone was caked in layers of old blood, and I batted away flies as I delved deeper into the mess that was the lighthouse cellar. I had seen my fair share of carnage in my line of work, to be sure, but this - this was something else entirely.

I turned the corner and was greeted by the mangled corpse of a woman, propped up against a shelf. She was only barely recognizable as mer.

Another corpse. Rotting food, and a scattering of cockroaches. Sithis, how could anyone live like this?

A rotting head on an altar. The area around it was immaculately kept, in juxtapose to the rest of the cellar.

A journal. I paged through it, hoping to find some clue, something to explain this house of horrors.

However, all I gained from it was an overwhelming feeling of dread. It spoke of another Silencer. Lucien had mentioned him in passing once, though I could not recall his name. My blood froze in my veins as I read over the last page.

 

_“Lucien Lachance will die!”_

 

I shoved the journal into my pack and rushed back up the stairs. The sun was now setting over the Abecean, but I paid it no mind.

 

We were running out of time.

 

* * *

 

 

I was an assassin; I wasn’t at all squeamish. But I cried out in shock when my eyes fell on Lucien, tortured, hanged, murdered by the Black Hand, for treachery he didn’t commit.

Arquen was saying something, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t process what was happening. My whole body shook and I felt sick to my stomach as I stared in shock at the mutilated body of my accomplice, my friend. A man who might have been my lover, had circumstances been different.

It didn't take long for the shock to melt into anger.

The Dunmer Speaker shouted, jumping up from where he was seated behind Arquen as I drove my knife upwards through her throat. I dodged him as he lunged at me, cutting into his spine easily before ducking to avoid the human assassin’s sword. I knocked him off balance, my blade sinking into the flesh of his throat, then I turned to the other Silencer. He stood a pace away, dagger at the ready, but I could see him shaking, hesitating. Unthinking, I tackled him, brimming with a blind rage, and, oh, the _fear in his eyes_.

There was venom on my tongue as I hissed words that I was only vaguely aware I was saying - _I know this is all your fault you fucking son of a bitch I'll make you wish you were never fucking alive -_ though I don't know how much of it he heard before the life drained from him. I only climbed off of him when I felt the blood pooling around my knees begin to soak through my leathers.

Breathing heavily, I looked at the mess I'd made, though it wasn't with remorse. It was only my deeply ingrained respect for the dead that kept me from spitting on the Silencer’s mangled corpse.

I let the rickety wooden door of the farmhouse swing shut behind me, pausing to breathe in the cold night air with a shaky sigh. I stood still for a while, my mind racing. It was all my fault. I could have saved him, if only I had come sooner. Snow began to fall, and I looked up to the dark grey sky. I collapsed onto the cold stone of the doorstep, crying out into the night. I didn’t want to keep going on like this anymore. I’d had enough.

 

I felt numb as I watched the farmhouse burn.

 

_Night Mother, forgive me._

 

A week later, I found myself standing on the banks of the Rumare. I stared across the water at the Ayleid stone walls of the Imperial City and wondered what kept me tethered to the place. It certainly weren’t the glaring gate guards that eyed me as I passed under the archway to the Waterfront district. It certainly wasn't the persistent squawking of seagulls above or the lone drunk who whistled at me as I passed. Maybe it was the way the water stilled in the night; how I could stand on the pier with only the sound of gentle waves as I looked out upon a whole other world.

I thought back to when Lucien found me there, wearing the garments of a commoner instead of my dark armour. My bow and quiver rested beside me, giving me the appearance of a simple hunter rather than an assassin. It was morning then, too; a thick layer of fog hung over the water as the sun tried to rise above the mountains. I didn’t need to look away from the horizon to recognize the deliberate footfalls and the cold, toxic scent of the man who seated himself next to me.

 

_“Would this be business or pleasure?” I spoke after a long silence, eyes still fixed on the scenery in front of me. Lucien chuckled._

_“Pleasure, should you allow it,” he spoke in his usual low drawl. I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto my face at the sound of the voice beside me._

 

A feeling of anguish washed over me as my mind replayed the memory. I could still remember the feeling of brief surprise that melted into dizzy relief when Lucien leaned over and kissed me. I could still taste the man’s lips and feel the gentle pressure of his hands on my skin.

 

_“I believe I may have fallen for you,”_

 

Finally, I let the tears fall. Once again, I was well and truly alone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of references to content from the Better Cities mod, which is amazing: http://www.nexusmods.com/oblivion/mods/16513/?


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